


Impulse

by Ebyru



Series: Blood Red and Cyan-Eyed [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Claiming, Comedy, Crack, Humor, M/M, Marking, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Obsessive Behaviour, POV Alternating, Porn, Possessive Behavior, Rare Pairings, Rough Sex, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Spoilers, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, a lot of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebyru/pseuds/Ebyru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a smell all over the school that’s driving Isaac crazy. Stiles walks in on Isaac finally finding it in the locker room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impulse

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd for now.
> 
> Also, this is really, really dirty, and still not the worst story in this series (I think).  
> Spoilers for that tiny part with Isaac and Stiles as lab partners.
> 
> A HUGE thanks to [Tasseomancy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tasseomancy) for the NSFW art she drew -- [HERE](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m8x2mqutKI1qao852.jpg).
> 
> The next part in the series is Derek/Allison + Scott.

Isaac starts smelling _it_ during chemistry class, but he’s having too much fun teasing Stiles –threatening that girl he likes so much – to pay attention to it.

It’s outdoorsy, fresh, spicy, and kind of tangy if he lets the scent dry on his tongue. It’s unique, special in a way most smells aren’t – now that Isaac’s nose can differentiate everything – and entirely new to Isaac. But for now he can ignore its existence.

 

\---

 

After class, it still bothers Isaac. Not so easy to ignore it anymore.

His peers are scurrying out of class, like he normally would be, while he’s taking his time, pushing his textbooks and pencil case into his knapsack with unnecessary care. The teacher’s brow furrows, but he gathers his things and leaves Isaac to his business.

The smell is still around, on most of the things – since they moved from table to table – but Isaac can’t tell exactly where it is yet. He sniffs the air, following where the scent is strongest, and goes to it.

There’s a beaker that’s been cleaned, but still smells faintly of what’s disconnecting Isaac from his sanity. Tentatively, he darts his tongue out against the glass. And that’s when his whole body goes loose, boneless. He’s drowning in the taste of it and how it fills his senses up with a variety of things – both familiar and foreign. He’s lathering the side of the glass before he realizes, groaning, and rutting against the side of the table, squeezing so hard the glass cracks and nearly shatters in his hands.

Isaac puts the container down, and rushes out before he can cause any more damage to school property.

 

\---

 

Isaac unintentionally follows the scent around the interconnected halls of the school. Thankfully the school is mostly empty on Fridays; otherwise, the entire student body would be gaping at Isaac’s disturbing and nonsensical behaviour.

It’s not like he can control it if he wants to. The smell is _suffocating_. Practically making Isaac want to climb the brick walls of the building, and howl at the moon – whether it’s full or not.

Isaac’s fingers drag against the lockers, each of the locks clinking as he drops them against the metal panel, until he finds _the_ one. The one with the intoxicating scent directly inside of it. Isaac doesn’t even bother opening the lock (or breaking it open), just sucks on it; the metal cool and hard against his tongue. The taste is so vivid, so alive, but this is still not even close to being enough.

Sniffing the air again, uncaring of how far his integrity has fallen from when he woke up this morning, he chases the smell down the hall. His tongue curls against the odour, licking at things he can’t see but can definitely chase the flavour of.

And then it’s there, stronger, lying in wait for him. In the garbage bin.

Isaac will admit this isn’t his best moment, but why would he care when no-one’s even around to witness it?

There’s not much to dig through – nothing too disgusting at least – and Isaac gets his hands on two items in a flash. A crumpled coffee cup from Starbucks and a half-eaten apple lie in the palms of his hands. Isaac knows the apple should tell him something, give him a hint as to the owner. But he can’t think beyond wanting to continue devouring the smell and taste the items are bathed in.

Isaac lathers the apple in saliva then engorges it. He absorbs it like a plant does sunlight, swallows it practically whole, his body shivering with the feel of being so near to the scent. He has enough sense to stop himself from doing the same to a paper cup, but just barely. It doesn’t stop his tongue from coating it in a sticky layer of spit that drips down his mouth and onto the front of his t-shirt though.

There’s a sound that startles Isaac, and – just out of curiosity – he takes in another whiff of the air.

The cup is forgotten when the scent, the enticing aroma, hits him full-blown and extremely pungent. Isaac _knows_ , even before he arrives there, even before he swings the locker room door open, that he’s found the source of his current state.

 

\---

 

Jackson’s back is to Isaac as he packs up his dirty lacrosse clothes for the weekend. He’s nearly done – Isaac having been watching with a twisted sort of fascination – when he realizes someone is standing behind him.

It’s a real testament to Jackson’s strength (or stupidity) that he doesn’t jump when he sees the look on Isaac’s face. Maybe he’s used to people leering at him that way, Isaac thinks wonderingly.

“Can you step back? You’re kind of close considering there’s no-one else in here,” Jackson snaps, folding a jersey and shoving it in his duffle bag. The soft exhale wouldn’t be audible to anyone else.

“This is your fault,” Isaac manages to bite out.

The rest is a blur to him as he pins Jackson against a locker, staring into Jackson’s eyes, looking for the reason behind this madness. Isaac reaches for Jackson’s hair, and Jackson flinches away, recoiling, the smell _attacking_ Isaac’s senses suddenly.

It hurts so much Isaac has to screw his eyes shut and cover his face to try and avoid the overbearing, _impossible_ smell of a forest fire leaking into his lungs.

Jackson takes in a few breaths, calming himself, trying not to remember how Derek had pushed him around, hurt him, and scared him so badly he couldn’t sleep for days.

Isaac is good at reading people - partly from being a victim of abuse – so he moves back when he sees how scared Jackson looks. Not to mention how the scent became a powerful shield in that moment of fear.

It doesn’t mean he’s given up, though. Not in the slightest.

Isaac looks down at Jackson, eyes following his every nervous movement. Jackson sighs, grabbing his duffle bag and trying to get past Isaac. Isaac stretches an arm out, blocking him without thought. Jackson moves to the other side, and the same thing happens.

There’s no malice in Isaac’s eyes that Jackson can see, so he knows Isaac’s not doing this to scare him further. It’s something else entirely. Something Jackson isn’t certain he wants to stick around and find out about.

Jackson decides to go through Isaac – since Isaac won’t let him go around – and that proves to be a much worse idea.

Isaac is crowding Jackson in against the lockers, sliding the bag off of Jackson’s shoulder, and taking hold of Jackson’s hand. Jackson scowls, trying to shove out from under Isaac with his free arm, but Isaac just presses his hips in to keep Jackson trapped.

It’s quiet between them for a second. Remarkably so considering what Jackson feels pressed to his hip.

Jackson lets out a shaky breath, and Isaac sucks it in, his face much closer than it was a second earlier. Neither of them is stupid; they know what’s going to happen. But it doesn’t mean that Jackson is going to give in willingly either.

Jackson’s frown deepens, his eyes narrowed in a challenge, but Isaac doesn’t even react. He’s too busy inhaling the smell, taking it in straight from the supplier.

(As well as counting down from a hundred so he can get his wolf to back off for a while.

It’s harder to do than it sounds. Especially when every single one of your atoms is in agreement with ravishing a certain someone.)

Jackson shifts, trying to pull his hand back, but Isaac won’t allow any loss of contact. His eyes trace Jackson’s face, the flush climbing up his cheeks, the fullness of his parted lips. Jackson may or may not realize it, but he’s encouraging Isaac. The tiny puffs of air that hit Isaac’s lips, the grind of his hips every time he tries to shake Isaac off, the heat of his gaze warning Isaac to _back off_ …All of it is leading Isaac down a dark, one-way road.

Isaac is usually a good person. He’s always tried to be. But today he can’t help himself. He can’t wait for Jackson to accept his invitation, to admit he _wants_ this. Isaac has to have some relief before it gets out of hand.

So Isaac finally has a taste.

Just a bit of Jackson’s fingertips. Just to see if it’s really him after all who’s submerged in that godforsaken smell.

Isaac groans, his wolf feeling triumphant for the correct assumption. He grazes his teeth along Jackson’s fingers, eyes falling shut of their own accord. There’s something so strange about him. Jackson’s not fully human, nor is he pure wolf. He’s something else.

Isaac won’t stop to contemplate that and what it could mean. He’s found the scent, the flavour that’s been eating him alive for the past two hours; he’s not going to let this opportunity go to waste.  

Leaning in close, his hips keep Jackson pinned as he sucks at Jackson’s throat and neck, down his shoulder, and over his collarbones, covering everything in wet, bruising kisses. He’s eating up Jackson and the smell he brings with him.

Jackson, all the while, tries to push Isaac off, sounding slightly hysterical and breathless, twisting his hips to get away. But he’s not _really_ trying, Isaac guesses. And that’s fine with Isaac. No-one said Jackson had to be honest with his feelings.

Isaac isn’t going to pretend he doesn’t need this, not when he has Jackson right where he wants him. Not when there’s another smell, something teenage boys are all-too familiar with, blending in with Jackson’s already indescribable odour.

Sinking to his knees, Isaac allows Jackson a moment to understand what he’s about to do. He says, in a way he hopes sounds more arousing than menacing, “You’re going to have to convince me if you don’t want this.”

Jackson’s chest heaves out, and the smell encircles Isaac, enslaves him to it. It makes Isaac pant; makes him feel like a starved beast coming across fresh, juicy, red meat. And when Jackson doesn’t use that moment to run away, Isaac stops worrying altogether.

 

\---

 

The pants are lost somewhere on the ground, along with Jackson’s briefs. Jackson pulls his shirt over his head roughly, throwing it carelessly atop the pile.

Isaac doesn’t even notice that though. He’s too busy sucking at quivering legs and stroking along Jackson’s shaft. The head is swelling in his grasp, filling with so much blood Isaac wonders which of them might pass out from this first.

Hopefully, neither of them.

Isaac touches everywhere, his lips never far behind. Jackson curses under his breath, tangling his fingers in Isaac’s hair, trying to guide him where he wants. (And see, that’s why Isaac wasn’t convinced earlier.) Jackson grumbles when Isaac’s tongue traces the muscles in his stomach, the bones of his hips, his thighs and knees, but not the area that requires immediate _fuckin’_ attention.

Tugging on Isaac’s hair to get his attention, Jackson grits out, “Either suck my cock or I’ll find someone else who will.”

The reply comes easy. “As you wish, princess,” Isaac quips before taking as much of Jackson’s cock as he can between his lips.

The flavour is rich here, thick and juicy in a way that cocks should never be (or should always be when they belong to beautiful people like Jackson). He sucks Jackson down, making needy, whiny, little sounds that almost make Jackson harder than he already is. Isaac can feel the veins pulsating against his tongue.

Jackson starts thrusting when Isaac groans, his blunt nails digging into Isaac’s scalp, and Isaac drools, his mouth dripping with saliva and pre-come. It’s a horrible thought to want to suck someone’s cock so badly your mouth waters for it, but all Isaac can do is keep going. That’s all he wants to do. He’s ruined, isn’t he?

The thrusts go deeper and deeper down Isaac’s throat, Isaac having to settle into the stretch each time, and then Jackson gets a bit too enthusiastic and slams his hips in. Isaac is choking on Jackson’s cock, fucking _loving_ every tingly, burning second of it, but Jackson is looking in the direction of the door.

“Uh. Um. Wow. _Really?_ You two? I didn’t see that coming. I mean, maybe Lydia would have because she has super-sensing powers, but I’m still a bit rusty. And – wow – this is awkward. I don’t know why I’m still talking. Or here for that matter…”

Jackson keeps his eyes on Stiles and thrusts his cock down Isaac’s throat, making Isaac gag and choke violently, his eyes filling with tears. Isaac pulls off, panting, still swirling his tongue around the head of Jackson’s cock like he needs the taste to survive. Besides, he has an idea of what Jackson may be thinking.

Stiles, amazingly, stops talking. But he also seems like he stops breathing – which is not as good.

Isaac is rubbing Jackson’s hips when he turns to look at Stiles. He grins at the smell around Stiles, interested in teasing Stiles a bit more than he probably should. Jackson tugs at Isaac’s hair urgently, so Isaac calls Stiles over with a tilt of his head.

Stiles trips over his shoes, or his pants, during the ten steps it takes to walk across the locker room. He catches his footing at the last second though, and looks behind himself as if someone pushed him.

“You - you’re talking to me, right? You want me to come over?” Stiles fumbles out, eyes wide and innocent. Isaac rolls his eyes, nodding, fingers still splayed on Jackson’s hips.

Jackson glares, but Stiles can’t help but gawk at Jackson’s naked body (that he’s seen a few times, but never in quite such a raunchy light). And Stiles…may have said that aloud, because Jackson isn’t looking quite as murderous anymore. He looks pleased.

Jackson leans back against the lockers, offering up all his bare skin, and Stiles is reaching out before he processes it. Isaac, still slightly greedy when it comes to Jackson’s smell and taste, swats Stiles’s hand away.

Jackson’s body tenses as he pushes at Isaac’s shoulder. “I decide who touches me, not you.” Isaac can only lick his lips and nod. He wouldn’t want to ruin this now.

Stiles swallows thickly, and says, “You _want_ me to?”

Jackson looks around impassively, and replies, “Maybe.”

Stiles doesn’t know what comes over him – none of them understand what Jackson’s doing to them really – but he kisses Jackson, unskilled and definitely passionate. His tongue traces Jackson’s mouth for so long, his lips burning, aching, throbbing, that he doesn’t notice Isaac is mouthing at Jackson’s cock again between them. Stark naked.

Maybe it’s time for Stiles to get with the sex-filled program.

Stiles starts undressing clumsily, offering soft and rough kisses to Jackson simultaneously, trying to keep him from shouting as Isaac’s tongue dips into the head of his cock. It wouldn’t be very good if one of the teachers busted through the door to save Jackson.

Jackson isn’t making it easy; he won’t stop touching Stiles. At first it’s gentle, reserved almost, but when Stiles sucks on Jackson’s tongue, mirroring Isaac’s movements below, Jackson’s hands race to touch everything that’s available. It almost makes Isaac jealous.

Almost but not quite considering Isaac has hands as well. And he knows how to put them to use.

Isaac’s hand slithers around Stiles, spreading his boxer clad thighs, gripping the base of his cock firmly through the cotton. Stiles whimpers into the next kiss he shares with Jackson, making Jackson’s hips stutter forward painfully down Isaac’s throat. Isaac rubs at Stiles’s sac, squeezing and tugging gently.

Jackson’s fingers dig into Isaac’s skull, fucking Isaac’s mouth without a second thought as to how achingly hard Isaac is because of that. It’s getting to be too much, Isaac decides. He can feel his eyes switching back and forth between amber and blue.

Stiles nearly collapses when Isaac gets Stiles’s cock free, and Stiles breaks away from Jackson (finally) to pull in disturbing amounts of air.

Isaac’s hands snake up to Jackson’s waist as he stands, and Jackson smirks, trying to drag Isaac in for a kiss. Isaac allows himself one, two, three tops. Okay, maybe a few too many if Stiles hyperventilating next to them is anything to go by. But Jackson’s mouth is made of pure bliss, and he _knows_ how to use it. It’s no wonder Stiles bypassed breathing in order to have Jackson’s lips against his for a while longer.

It takes an unhealthy amount of control, but Isaac gets his mouth detached from Jackson’s long enough to lead him over to the wooden bench. Jackson lies down on his back with his thighs spread, without needing instruction. Isaac crawls over him, settling in his lap. He braces himself against Jackson’s chest, both palms resting flat against the muscles there.

Stiles must be in dreamland or something because Jackson has to wave him over to get him to join them. He stands aimlessly next to Jackson, just gawking at them.

Isaac’s hips roll incessantly against Jackson’s as he leans forward. His hand disappears behind him. Jackson licks his lips, grabbing on to Isaac’s hips to follow each slow grind and to steady him.

One of Isaac’s fingers slip in just as Stiles gets his brain working again. Jackson parts his lips, needing to be filled with Stiles’s length, to keep from shouting and alerting everyone to their misbehaviour. But Stiles offers his lips again, kneeling down on the floor next to Jackson.

As another finger slides into Isaac’s entrance, the head of his cock smears pre-come all over Jackson’s stomach in the process. Stiles makes a guttural moan, cupping Jackson’s head as Jackson’s hand wraps around Stiles’s cock. Jackson’s other hand finds its way to Isaac’s spread legs, and stretches Isaac’s ass just a bit wider when he nudges at the opening with his index finger.

Isaac nearly passes out at the sensation. It must be time now.

Jackson shoots Isaac a withering glare.

Oh boy is it _ever_ time.

Isaac knows it’s going to hurt like all hell for a while until he heals, but he’s had enough of being patient. He’s had enough of Jackson acting like a sex-fiend, of Stiles sounding like he’s dying every time Jackson’s thumb presses below the head of Stiles’s cock. He’s had enough, and his wolf has had more than enough. (It has been clawing at his insides to fuck Jackson for hours.

Jackson’s hand spreads Isaac’s ass, squeezing the skin in his palm, reddening it with his grip. And Isaac knows it has to be now.

Isaac sinks down on Jackson’s cock, a silent cry breaking through him. Jackson forces Stiles to stand up on wobbly knees, and swallows his cock all the way down his throat. It doesn’t muffle Jackson’s shout completely, but it’s enough that they can continue.

Stiles pants; sweat beading down his chest, thrusting shallowly between Jackson’s lips. Then Isaac moves, careful, cautious, grinding his ass along Jackson’s shaft, and Jackson drags Stiles’s cock deeper, sucking and growling.

No-one blames Stiles for finishing first, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling like a complete loser.

Stiles’s orgasm hits him like a bullet. One second Stiles is moaning, head tipped back, with Isaac’s hand gripping his hip gingerly to steady himself as he bounces on Jackson’s cock, and the next Stiles is painting Jackson’s tongue in white.

Stiles is dizzy, but he has enough sense to know he doesn’t want to stop touching anyone yet. He pets Jackson’s cheek, his fingers ghosting over the tip of Isaac’s cock as Isaac impales himself over, and over, and over…

Stiles slinks back down to the floor to prevent any accidents – since his boneless legs will give out eventually – and presses his lips to Jackson’s. Stiles can’t stop, not even when the taste of himself spreads through his taste buds. _Especially_ when that happens; it’s oddly gratifying.

Jackson turns away from the kiss, Stiles’s lips dragging down his cheek and jaw. Jackson grabs Isaac’s hips, tracing them as his fingers slide upward and back down. Stiles is still breathing hard, mostly in Jackson’s ear, but he hears when Jackson murmurs, “Help me make him come, Stilinski.”

Isaac, evidently, catches that.

Isaac’s muscles tense, and he ends up clenching just as Jackson thrusts up into Isaac’s (less) raw entrance. Stiles licks his fingers, covering Jackson’s cock with it, making the next thrust in just a bit easier. Isaac bites into his lip when Jackson does the same thing, but using Isaac’s pre-come instead.

And then Isaac loses coherency (and arguably humanity).

Jackson and Stiles are freakishly in sync as they tug at Isaac’s cock, jerking him to completion with a few simple, tight strokes of their intermeshed, damp fingers. It certainly helps that Jackson keeps pounding into Isaac’s ass long after Jackson’s pumped – what feels like – a gallon of come into Isaac. (Having natural lubrication suddenly appear after the fact really isn’t helpful.)

It’s okay, though, because Isaac isn’t done with them yet.

Stiles’s fingers travel across Isaac’s chest, down his stomach, loosely around his cock; then they follow a path over to the mess on Jackson’s stomach, dipping into it. Jackson’s muscles jump at the touch, and he groans, gently pulling out of Isaac. Stiles keeps dipping his fingers in the come then tasting his fingers, and Isaac thinks it looks like a pretty good idea.

Isaac scoots back on the bench, off of Jackson’s lap just enough to spread his legs, giving them both a perfect view of his red, puffy, soiled entrance.

Stiles whimpers, still sucking the taste of Isaac’s come off his fingers. Jackson sits up at that, magically finding a boost of energy, and moves his legs out of the way. Isaac thinks Jackson’s cock seems like it’s about to get hard again.

_Let’s test out that theory._

It’s harder to move his arms than he expects, but Isaac manages to press his finger inside himself, dragging out Jackson’s come. He trails it all the way up his own cock, dabs it around the head, leaves a line of it across his stomach and chest, and then shoves his fingers into his mouth.

Stiles stares as if hypnotized, licking his lips compulsively, chasing the taste of Isaac in his mouth. Isaac grins, eyes locked on Stiles as he relaxes the muscles of his entrance, letting the come drip out onto two fingers, quickly pushing them between his lips before he loses it.

Jackson groans, spreading Isaac’s come from his stomach onto his half-hard cock, stroking it to full hardness.

 _Yeah_ , Isaac was right.

Stiles lunges forward – when Isaac gets distracted by Jackson’s rough tugs on his cock – and kisses Isaac, hungry for Jackson’s taste in Isaac’s mouth. He’s moaning loud, bordering on too loud, but Jackson isn’t doing much better. He’s grunting, groaning, muttering strings of curse words as Stiles slides his fingers inside of Isaac, rubbing it against Isaac’s parted lips only to lick them clean.

Jackson comes for a second time, grinding out an earth-shatteringly hot ‘ _Fuck_ ’ _._ Isaac smirks, nuzzling into Stiles’s neck, and when Stiles looks over Jackson looksabsolutely filthy.

In the best possible way, of course.

Stiles’s pupils are blown to hell, and his skin is red all over from exertion. You’d think he was the one who got fucked dry. Jackson is whimpering, swaying, eyes half-closed. Isaac is the only one with any energy left at all.

He helps Jackson climb off the bench so he can tangle himself with Stiles and Isaac on the floor instead. Jackson complains about it being cold at first - with Stiles (of course) going off on a tangent of ‘what did you expect’ – but it becomes comfortable after a short while.

And then it’s calm. Just like after a major thunderstorm.

Jackson shifts, feeling itchy and sticky. Stiles is just naturally twitchy, but he’s wiggling more than usual, too. It’s disturbing Isaac’s post-coital basking time. He decides on a solution to all their collective troubles.

(There are so many smells, so many tastes on Isaac’s tongue, mingling and blending, that he doesn’t mind adding a bit more to the collection. He welcomes it, actually.)

Isaac licks Jackson clean – or mostly – and then does the same thing to Stiles. Just because he can; he knows they’re liking it. No-one offers to clean Isaac because he does it himself, with them gaping and trying very hard to get their genitals _interested_ again.

It’s a fruitless venture.

Jackson leans his head against a locker, Stiles curled next to him on one side and Isaac on the other, shamelessly gnawing on Jackson’s neck. It’s strangely intimate. More intimate than it should be consider how much come-swapping they just accomplished as a trio.

Stiles sighs softly, seeking out Isaac’s fingers, and then lacing their hands together. Jackson wraps an arm around Stiles and Isaac, their hips pressing in close. Isaac turns more toward Jackson, and throws a leg over both Jackson and Stiles.

Now, they’re officially comfortable. (And clean.)

 

They fall asleep tangled together like that.

 

\---

 

A loud beeping sound startles them all awake - one after the other.

 

Stiles is beneath two bodies when his consciousness returns. Jackson’s head is resting on his chest, and Isaac’s lying half on Stiles, half on Jackson, his face buried in Jackson’s shoulder. Isaac growls when the beeping doesn’t stop fast enough, but Stiles can’t get to it when two heavy teenagers are squashing him into the locker room floor.

The very public locker room.

Where they are lying naked.

Oh, _fuck_.

“Wake up. Get up! Rise and shine,” Stiles rambles out, trying to sneak out from underneath the pile, but failing overall. “We’re still _naked_ , guys.”

Jackson snorts, cracking an eye open, then gets more comfortable. Isaac hums, tongue lapping lazily at the back of Jackson’s neck, his fingers tightening around Stiles’s bicep to keep him from moving.

“We could be locked in school for the whole weekend!” Stiles announces dramatically, eyes wide for extra effect - which would work better if they were looking.

Jackson sucks a bruising kiss next to Stiles’s nipple and nothing else. Stiles ignores that _that_ actually felt really good, and may or may not have made him moan. (And _maybe_ made Isaac giggle like a pubescent Justin Bieber fan.)

“Guys, if you don’t get up, I can’t stop my alarm,” he tries finally.

Jackson grumbles, rolling over and sitting up. Isaac growls at the loss of contact as he watches Stiles bound across the locker room and dig in his bag for his Adderall.

“You have an alarm for your meds?” Jackson asks, raising one perfectly-sculpted eyebrow. Isaac shakes his head, smirking, then stands and stretches. Very elaborately.

They both pretend they didn’t _totally_ check Isaac out when he did that.

“Yeah, well, it keeps me from being worse than I already am,” Stiles retorts, digging through his dirty lacrosse clothes for something minimally sweaty to slip on.

“Whatever, Stilinski,” Jackson snaps back, picking his clothes up and putting them on. Luckily they were far away from the crime scene; therefore, clean enough for Jackson to wear.

Isaac yawns, only bothering to put pants on before heading to the door. “See you Monday.”

And then he’s gone.

 

The other two go their separate ways as well, more or less pretending none of that happened. That nothing’s changed. But knowing they won’t soon forget it.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated. :)


End file.
